Where the Air is Rarified
by davros72
Summary: Scott and Betty take a journey into the past...


TITLE: Where the Air is Rarified  
AUTHOR: Kevin Schultz  
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: davros72@prodigy.net  
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: All you need to do is ask  
CATEGORY: General, Adventure, Crossover  
RATING: G  
FEEDBACK: Sure, email is listed above  
DISCLAIMER: Remember WENN created by Rupert Holmes, copyright AMC and Howard Meltzer Productions. The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne created by Gavin Scott, copyright Talisman Crest. No infringement is intended.  
  
  
**********  
  
"Betty, Betty, Betty!"  
  
Betty Roberts cringed as she heard the familiar call ring out once again down the halls of Pittsburgh radio station WENN. "Yes, Scott?" she inquired, politely but coolly, as she turned from the Green Room door to face the man who had called out her name thrice.  
  
Scott Sherwood bounded along the hallway towards Betty, his eyes gleaming, his smile beaming. "You'll be pleased to know that I just scored a major coup for our humble little station."  
  
Betty arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" She paused, realizing that she'd recently been arching her eyebrows rather too much when Scott Sherwood was around, and promptly smoothed her face. No sense in thinking he's constantly raising my eyebrows, she thought wryly. Then again...  
  
"You bet, Betty," Scott gushed on. "Wait here!" Scott hurried back to the radio station's entrance, and came back to Betty carrying a box. "Ta-da!"   
  
Betty looked at the box, looked back up at Scott, and looked back down at the box. "A box? That's your proud accomplishment?"  
  
"No, no, no, it's what's inside that counts, Betty. That's what I keep telling you."  
  
Betty chuckled in spite of herself. "OK, I'll bite. What's inside the box?"  
  
Scott's grin grew even larger, if such a thing were possible, which Betty was beginning to doubt at this point in their relationship. Relationship? Well, their working relationship, she reasoned with herself. Yes, that sounds more proper.  
  
Opening the box, Scott lifted out three heavy books. "It's a couple of books by Jules Verne. The nice people over at the Pittsburgh Public Library want us to come up with dramatizations of each of these books for their show. We've got 'Around the World in 80 Days', 'Journey to the Center of the Earth', and '20,000 Leagues Under the Sea'."  
  
Betty's eyes lit up. "Gee, Scott, I love those books! I used to read them over and over when I was a young girl back in Elkhart. Such imagination! I felt I was being taken on a special trip far away from my own home every time I read them. Oh, Scott, this is going to be so much fun!"  
  
"I kinda thought you'd get a kick out of them," Scott said. "The thing is, they want them all written by next Friday."  
  
Betty's smile dropped quickly from her face. "What did you just say?"  
  
"They want them all written by next Friday."  
  
"That's what I thought you said. Scott, I can't do all three books by next Friday. Not with all of our regular programming to write as well."  
  
"I've got that all figured out. Mr. Foley's been pestering me day and night to do some writing. For some reason, he feels his voice just hasn't been heard enough around here lately. So I thought we could let him do some of the usual weekly programs. He's in every show, he knows the characters. And besides, I'd love to hear what kind of words Mr. Foley would put in our character's mouths, wouldn't you? That would leave you with plenty of time to work on the Verne scripts."  
  
Betty looked at Scott. "Gee, I don't know, Scott. It's one thing to do sound effects, it's a totally different world when you start using words."  
  
"Oh, come on, Betty, you know as well as I do that Mr. Foley is one of the most quotable fellas around. He's actually quite a wordsmith."  
  
"Wordsmith? Where'd you pick that one up, Scott?"  
  
"Somewhere between here and five minutes ago. What do you say, Betty?"  
  
Betty grabbed one of the books from Scott. "It's certainly tempting..." She paused, her eyes gazing at the richly illustrated cover of "Around the World in 80 Days". "Oh, why not?"  
  
"Great!" Scott beamed. "Let's get to work!"  
  
"We?"  
  
"Well, sure, I'm a big Verne fan myself. C'mon, remember that science-fiction story I whipped up a while back?"  
  
"I'm still recovering from that one."  
  
"Well, this is gonna be better than that, because we'll be working together... alone... on a special project..."  
  
Betty frowned at Scott. "And that's precisely what it's going to be. Work." She thumped the copy of "80 Days" against Scott's chest. "Write up a 12 page scene-by-scene summary of this book for me, by tomorrow morning."  
  
Scott took the book. "Uh, sure, OK, I can do that. 12 pages. Do you need that typed, or will handwriting do? Because frankly, my typing skills aren't up to your standards."  
  
"Whichever. Just have it done by tomorrow morning. I suggest you start right away."  
  
Scott nodded. "Fine. Whatever you say, Betty." He opened the cover of the book, and flipped through some pages as he headed down the hallway. Suddenly he stopped, and turned around to face Betty once more. "Um, Betty?"  
  
Betty turned back from the Green Room door yet again. "What is it?"  
  
"It's a box," Scott said.   
  
"Haven't we been through all this?" Betty asked, confused.  
  
"Not with this box." Scott held aloft a rather small, finely carved wooden box. A tiny lock clamped the lid shut. "It was inside the book, where the pages should have been. Boxes don't come with every book, do they, Betty?"  
  
"No, they don't, Scott." Betty took the small box, and examined it closely. Apart from the steel lock, there were no decorations or markings of any kind on the outside. "Well, the lock is rather small, I don't think we should have a problem unlocking it. Let me find a knife or something."  
  
Scott fished in a pocket and produced a set of small keys. "Or we could try one of these."  
  
Betty shook her head, saying, "I won't even ask."  
  
"Good thing, too. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. That's what I was told when I asked about them."  
  
"Too bad other people aren't as committed to their promises as I am."  
  
*****  
  
Ten minutes later, in the Green Room, Scott and Betty had finally managed to pick the lock of the small box using one of Scott's skeleton keys. Inside they found two objects, wrapped in a piece of cloth.  
  
"It looks like a handkerchief," Betty said, as she examined the dusty white cloth. "Look, there are some intials on it. "'P.F." she read aloud. "Hmmm. Not Jules Verne, then. I wonder whose they could be?"  
  
"'P.F.'," Scott mused. "I wonder..."  
  
Betty carefully opened the handkerchief, to reveal two objects. One was most definitely a key, and a rather ornate one at that. The second object could have been almost anything. It was a small glass sphere, about the size of a golf ball, with a crystal pyramid embedded at its center. The sides of the pyramid were engraved with the letter "A".  
  
"Well, this makes no sense," Betty said, dumbfounded.  
  
"I've got it!" Scott cried out triumphantly. "P.F. stands for Phileas Fogg! From the book, he's a character in the book we found the box in!"  
  
"I know who Phileas Fogg is, Scott, I've read the book. But why would his initials be on a handkerchief inside a box inside a Jules Verne book? It makes no sense."  
  
"But it might. What if Phileas Fogg were a real person?"  
  
Betty laughed out loud. "You have got to be kidding me, Scott. Everyone knows that Jules Verne made him up. The book is a work of fiction, for heaven's sake!"  
  
"Betty, Betty, Betty, you've got to learn to keep your mind open to new ideas!" Scott picked up the small sphere.  
  
Betty looked back inside the wooden box. "Hey, there's a piece of paper in here at the bottom!" She picked it up and read it. "'Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.' And there's a series of letters and numbers handwritten on the card, too."  
  
Scott looked at Betty over the glass sphere. "Well, at least now we know what we'll be doing tomorrow..."  
  
Betty paused, looked up at Scott, and rolled her eyes and groaned. "Why do I ever listen to you, Scott Sherwood?"   
  
*****  
  
Scott Sherwood and Betty Roberts strolled down Pennsylvania Avenue, surrounded by the many historical monuments and buildings of the nation's capitol, Washington, D.C. A slight snowfall drifted lazily down from the clouds, as the two figures made their way towards the Smithsonian Institution's main building. The chill November air caused their breath to be visible in the midafternoon light.  
  
"I can't help it, Scott, I keep thinking about those scripts you promised we'd write," Betty said, worriedly.  
  
"Like I kept telling you on the train, we'll get to them as soon as we get to the bottom of this key mystery," Scott said, determinedly. "The scripts will just have to wait. And besides, how long could this take?"  
  
"Probably much too long, knowing you, Scott."  
  
"Aw, come on, Betty. We'll have this solved by the end of the day, or my name isn't Scott Sherwood."  
  
Betty stopped on the sidewalk and looked at Scott. "I have absolutely *no* idea how much faith to put in that declaration."   
  
"And speaking of declarations, how about the Declaration of Independence? Don't they have that here in the Smithsonian?"  
  
Betty started walking again, catching up with Scott. "Nice change of subject, Sherwood," she muttered, amusedly.  
  
"I thought so, too."   
  
"And, as a matter of fact, no, the Declaration of Independence is actually housed at the Library of Congress. But remember, we're not here to sight-see, we're here to find out about this key and this... this other thing."  
  
"Right."  
  
Scott and Betty continued on down Pennsylvania Avenue, turning onto 7th Street, and then finally turning onto Jefferson Drive. The duo approached the main entrance to the Institution Building. They stepped up to the box office, where an older gentleman was seated, selling tickets to those wishing to go inside. The old fellow looked up and smiled kindly at Scott and Betty. "And how are we today? Enjoying your honeymoon?"  
  
Scott and Betty both jumped in shock. They quickly looked at one another, and just as quickly looked away.   
  
"Um, we're just friends," Betty said hurriedly.  
  
"Yeah," Scott added rather glumly.  
  
"As a matter of fact, we're reporters," Betty continued, "here in town investigating a lead on a story." Scott looked at her. She shrugged, as if to say, Hey, it's close enough to the truth.  
  
"Oh, really?" the old man said. "I like stories. Anything I can do to help?"  
  
"As a matter of fact, there is, my good man," Scott answered, pasting his con-man smile onto his face. He looked at the old man's uniform, spotted the nametag, and went on. "Arthur... may I call you Arthur? Arthur, we've discovered something. Something big. And there's just one thing standing in our way."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"This!" Scott said, rather proudly, producing the card they had found in the bottom of the wooden box. "We were wondering if you could help us with what's written on the card."  
  
Arthur took the card from Scott, and peered closely at it. He looked back up at Scott, and said, "It says, 'Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.' I think you've found us, sir."  
  
"Well, yes, we figured that much out, Arthur. It's the rest of it we're more concerned with."  
  
Arthur looked back at the card. "Oh yes! These numbers and letters. Oh, I see what you mean." The old man chuckled. "For a moment there I thought you were putting me on."  
  
Betty folded her arms. "Oh, Scott Sherwood would *never* do that," she said sarcastically.  
  
Arthur continued examining the handwriting on the card. "Let's see... SW1, BW..." He continued muttering to himself, scribbling on a nearby piece of paper. After a few moments, he cried out, "A-ha!"  
  
"What is it?" Betty asked anxiously.  
  
"I think I've deciphered your riddle, young lady," Arthur stated proudly, handing the card back to Scott. "The numbers and letters are shorthand for our archiving system. SW1, now, that means, South-West Archive Building 1, BW stands for Brittania Wing, and..."  
  
"Yes, yes, yes," Scott said impatiently. "So it's a location. Can you show us where?"  
  
"Yes, sir, I can show you on the map that you get free with admission to the Institution."  
  
Scott turned to Betty. "You see? It won't be long now." He turned back to Arthur, who hadn't moved. "Um, Arthur?"  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"The map, Arthur?"  
  
"What about it, sir?"  
  
"May I see the map so you can show us where we need to go?"  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to purchase admission to the Institution before I can give you a map, sir."  
  
"But the maps are free."  
  
"Yes, sir. With admission to the Institution, sir."  
  
Scott sighed, defeated. He dug in his pocket and handed over enough to cover two admissions to the Institution.   
  
"Thank you, sir," Arthur said. "And here are your complimentary maps, sir, and one for you, madame." He handed them each a map. "Enjoy your day at the Institution!"  
  
Scott opened his map and set it gently in front of Arthur. "And the location as indicated on the card?"  
  
"What?" Arthur said, somewhat confused. Then he brightened. "Oh, yes, sir, the card! Now, where did I put my piece of paper... ah! Here it is. Yes, sir, you'll want to go...just.... here!" Arthur pointed triumphantly at the very edge of one corner of the map. "That's where you're looking for."  
  
Scott heaved a great sigh of relief. "Thank you, Arthur!"  
  
"Come on, Scott, let's get going," Betty said, grabbing Scott's arm and pulling him along.   
  
Arthur smiled as he watched them go, then turned his attention back to the main entrance, watching the people pass by on the street.  
  
A few seconds later, he heard a voice from off to his left. "Um, Arthur?" Arthur turned to see Scott.  
  
"Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"  
  
"Um, Arthur, why did you ask us if we were enjoying our honeymoon earlier? Like the lady said, we're, um, just friends."  
  
Arthur smiled warmly, and winked at Scott. "Oh, I've been around long enough to tell when two people belong together. You two looked the type."  
  
Scott grinned, just as Betty rushed back, grabbed his arm, said, "Come *on*, Scott!" and pulled him away from Arthur.  
  
Arthur chuckled and went back to work.  
  
*****  
  
After convincing one of the guards on duty at the archive building that they were indeed reporters from Pittsburgh, Scott and Betty were let into the Brittania Wing. The archives were unlike the main Institution Building, in that nothing was really on display. Most items were boxed up, in crates, or simply stacked in corners. Curiously, there was no dust anywhere. The place was very clean. "They must have a Mr. Eldridge, too," Scott said as he looked around.  
  
Betty led him to the room that Arthur had instructed them to go to once they had gotten inside the building. It was towards the back of the building, at the end of a small, gloomy corridor. A metal door stood barring their way. Scott looked at Betty, and said, "Shall I do the honors?"  
  
"A gentleman always holds a door open for a lady," Betty replied.  
  
"They do, eh? Huh. Well, I'll have a go at it myself, anyway." Scott tried the handle of the door, relieved to find it was unlocked. "Well, I'd say the key's probably not for this door."  
  
Betty entered, followed closely by Scott. Scott stopped abruptly in the entrance as he saw what was inside. The room was dimly lit, and somewhat large. But it certainly wasn't empty. Sitting in the center of the room was a strange craft of some sort. It looked vaguely like a rather ornate boat, and yet one could tell it wasn't designed for water travel. No, instead, this ship felt as though it was trapped inside the room, and yearned to be free. Free to roam... the skies, perhaps? It didn't look like an airplane. And yet...  
  
"It's an airship," Betty declared.  
  
Scott continued to look at the craft from the doorway. "How can you tell, Betty?"  
  
Betty called back, "That's what it says on the display plaque over here."  
  
Scott walked over to join Betty at what appeared to be the front of the vessel. There was indeed a display plaque, mounted on a small pedestal in front of the airship. Scott read the plaque aloud.  
  
"'Airship "Aurora". Property of Phileas Fogg, London, England.' There, you see, Betty? Told you 'P.F.' stood for 'Phileas Fogg'." He looked back at the airship. "No balloon. Guess it got punctured or something."  
  
Betty shook her head in wonder. "But, but that means... No, it can't possibly mean that, can it? That what Jules Verne wrote actually had some basis in fact? That Phileas Fogg, and the rest of it... it's real?"  
  
Scott looked over at her. "Yeah, I think so, Betty. Wanna go inside?"  
  
Scott led Betty to what was obviously a door on the side of the airship. Scott reached out, and tentatively tried the door handle. It was locked. "Figures," Scott said. He reached inside his coat pocket, and withdrew the ornate key they had discovered inside the wooden box. He placed the key delicately inside the lock and twisted it. They heard a "thunk" of gears and metal shifting. Scott withdrew the key, replaced it in his pocket, and once more tried the door handle. This time, the door opened smoothly.  
  
Scott stood aside, motioning for Betty to enter the Aurora. "Ladies first," he said breezily.  
  
Betty gingerly stepped over the threshold, and into the ship's interior. It was fairly dark, but she was able to see enough to make her heart skip a beat. The inside of the airship was incredible. It was clearly fashioned by a master craftsman. Victorian-age gilding and carving decorated the walls. A coiling staircase was just off to one side, a table with some chairs over there, and over towards the front was the impressive windowscreen. Placed somewhat back from the window was a large blue globe, with a small locking mechanism attached to its top.  
  
Betty approached the globe, and stood before it. "Scott, this is amazing!" she breathed.  
  
Scott tiptoed up beside her. "I know what you mean. It's like a museum piece."  
  
Betty turned to face Scott. "I could really see Phileas Fogg flying this airship around the world in 80 days."  
  
"Well, I think Passepartout would probably have done most of the actual 'flying' of the ship, Betty," Scott replied.  
  
Betty turned back to look out the window. "Well, whoever it was, they'd've had a glorious view."  
  
Scott paused to look at Betty. She looked positively beautiful, standing amongst the Victorian finery, a bright and intense smile on her face. "I know the feeling," Scott murmured quietly.  
  
Betty blinked, and slid her eyes towards Scott. Scott quickly recovered, giving Betty his usual million-dollar smile. "Did I tell you about the time I flew an airplane for a shipping company in the Pacific? Ran into a real nice guy by the name of Jake Cut--"  
  
"It seems to me I've heard that desperate non sequitir once before, Scott Sherwood," Betty said, in her playfully scolding voice. "Why don't you enjoy the view out the window, while I explore a bit more of this airship?"  
  
Scott nodded. "I hear ya."  
  
Betty started walking towards the rear compartments of the Aurora. "And don't touch anything!" she called back as she left the main room.  
  
Scott waited until she was out of sight, then immediately touched the blue globe with his index finger. "Of course I won't, Betty."  
  
Scott looked around the main room. He strolled quietly, examining the various controls and fixtures of the craft. He paused when he came upon a gleaming gold panel, which was affixed to the wall just to the left of the blue globe as Scott faced the front window. There was a round indentation set into the center of the panel's surface. The indentation was surrounded by several switches and dials. The gold panel seemed to have been a late addition to the wall, since it didn't seem to fit in exactly right with the rest of the controls. It felt out of place, even to Scott, who had never been inside the craft before.  
  
Scott looked around the room, making sure Betty wasn't coming back yet. He dug into another coat pocket, and produced the small crystal sphere that had also been inside the wooden box they had discovered. Scott looked at the pyramid embedded inside the sphere. "Guess we know what the 'A' stands for," he said quietly. He tossed the sphere up in the air and caught it nonchalantly. He then pressed it firmly into the round indentation in the center of the gold panel. "Well, whaddayaknow, it fits perfectly," Scott said, chuckling.  
  
Scott paused, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did after about one minute, he sighed. "Time to work your magic, Scott Sherwood," he told himself. He pressed one of the buttons on the panel. Again, nothing happened. He pressed several more buttons, turned some levers, and twisted some dials. Finally, something started to happen. The crystal sphere sank deeper into the panel, and began to spin wildly. A light from within illuminated the sphere, causing Scott to blink his eyes. A high pitched whine began to emanate from somewhere underneath the floor, and the entire craft began to tremble. Not a violent tremble, but one that felt somehow comfortable.   
  
"Scott Sherwood!" Betty yelled out as she hurried forward from down a hallway. "What have you done?"  
  
"What makes you assume it was me?" Scott asked, innocently.  
  
"Because I know you all too well, you meddling... meddler!" Betty replied angrily as she approached Scott. She looked at the panel. "Didn't I tell you not to touch anything?"  
  
"Oh, Betty, since when have I ever done anything you told me to do?"  
  
Betty stared at Scott angrily. Scott knew better than to press her further on the matter with *that* look in her eyes.   
  
"Well," Scott explained, "I got kinda bored waiting for you, so I looked around, found this panel, saw that there was this round opening, put two and two together, and knew that our little crytsal ball just *had* to go in there. So I put it in. And pressed some buttons. And fiddled with some other controls. I guess. Um. Sorry?"  
  
Betty shook her head, and looked closer at the gold panel. "How do we get it to stop?" she asked herself, out loud.  
  
Before Scott could reply, he and Betty were blinded by a sudden flash of brilliant light which seemed to envelope and invade the entire craft. It lasted only a split second, but it was so intense that once it was gone, it took Scott and Betty a few moments to notice that the trembling and the noise had also stopped. Scott looked at the panel, and saw that the crystal sphere had dimmed, and now was silently sliding back to the front of the panel. Betty noticed it too, and before Scott could touch the sphere, Betty snatched it from the panel.   
  
"Oh, no you don't, Scott," she said huffily. "From now on, I'm going to hold onto this, thank you very much."  
  
"You're welcome," Scott answered humbly.   
  
"And I think it's about time we got ourselves out of here," Betty continued. "Let's go. Do *not* touch *anything* on the way out. Do you understand?"  
  
Scott nodded, as he followed her to the door. They exited the airship, and Scott locked the door behind them. "Here", he said, handing her the key. "Better keep these, too."  
  
Betty took the keys, and placed them and the crytsal sphere inside her purse. "Thank you."  
  
They hurriedly left the airship's room, and closed that door as well. They proceeded down the hallway, and arrived at the entrance room of the Brittania Wing. They halted as they entered the room.   
  
"Uh, Betty? Where did all the stuff go?"   
  
Betty looked around the room. "I don't know. I'm sure this is where we came in."  
  
"Maybe they had a garage sale while we were back in the airship," Scott suggested.  
  
Betty shook her head. "Well, whatever happened, let's just get out of here. I think we've seen all we need to see here. Let's go back to Pittsburgh and work on those Verne scripts like we were supposed to all along."  
  
They headed for the exit. "OK. Hey, at least we found out that Phileas Fogg and all the rest of that were for real, right?"  
  
Betty paused, her hand on the door handle. "You know, Scott, I don't know. Everything seemed real back there. But maybe, I don't know, a bit *too* real? I'm not so sure, now."  
  
"What do you mean, Betty?"  
  
"Well, maybe someone just created all this stuff, just as, well, maybe just as some sort of wax museum display of Sherlock Holmes, or Flash Gordon, or something like that."  
  
"Betty! Don't tell me you're starting to doubt? What about that sphere of ours, with all that blinding light? What was that?"  
  
Betty shook her head again. "I'm not sure. But I think I'm going to need some stronger evidence to convince me that there was ever a 'real' Phileas Fogg. Come on, let's go home."  
  
Betty twisted the door handle, and pulled it open...  
  
... and walked out into bright, warm sunshine.   
  
"Um, Betty? This building was attached to the main building... wasn't it?"  
  
Betty looked around, noticing the distinct lack of snow on the ground, the pleasant summer breeze in the air, and the complete and utter look of surprise on the gentleman standing in front of them.   
  
"Oh!" the young man said, snapping to attention. "I'm sorry, sir, ma'am. I wasn't aware anyone was inside the building today."  
  
Scott was the first to recover. "That's OK, son. We're just reporters, we'll see ourselves out. Thanks for your help!"  
  
Scott led Betty away from the young man. Betty stared back at the stranger as she was led away by Scott. "Scott," she said, quietly, "why is that man wearing a Civil War uniform?"  
  
Scott replied, "I'm not sure, Betty." He stopped walking as they reached the main street. He and Betty stood and looked in awe. A troop of Union Civil War soldiers marched past them in formation, while several horse-and-carriages clip-clopped their way down another side street. "But I think it's because we're in the middle of the Civil War, Betty..."  
  
Scott led Betty to the edge of the street. They looked around, marvelling at the fresh, summer day, a definite contrast to the chill, grey afternoon they had been expecting. Birds chirped in the trees, and the breeze rustled the green leaves in the trees.   
  
"I can't believe it!" Betty breathed. "Have we really gone back in time? To the Civil War era?"  
  
Scott nodded as he looked up and down the street, eyes searching for something. "Yep. I think so, Betty. Pretty nifty, isn't it? Ah! Here we go." Scott waved his arm in the direction of an approaching horse-and-carriage. He turned to Betty. "Shall we go for a ride?"  
  
Betty's eyes widened. "You're kidding!" she whispered frantically, as the cab approached. "How are we going to pay for it?"  
  
"Oh, don't worry about that, Betty Roberts," Scott whispered back. "It won't be the first time I've finagled my way out of a fare."  
  
"That I can believe," Betty sighed, as the cab pulled up to a stop in front of them.   
  
The driver reigned in the horses, and addressed Scott. "Yes, sir, how may I help you?"  
  
Scott held out a hand, and gallantly assisted Betty in boarding the carriage. He followed her into the open-air seating, and said breezily, "Driver, take us to the Lincoln Mem...um, I mean Ford's Theatre, if you would, my good man."  
  
"Certainly, sir," the driver said cheerily, as he started his horses once again.  
  
As they moved off, Betty snuggled in just a bit closer to Scott, who couldn't help but smile delightedly.  
  
*****  
  
The Watcher sat, hidden, perched on a limb up high in one of the trees near Ford's Theatre. He waited silently, watching all around. His task was simple: Keep watch for certain rogue elements, namely, anything out of the ordinary that might endanger the vital mission of the League of Darkness.   
  
The Watcher flicked his head towards the Theatre upon hearing a high-pitched scream. His zoom eyepiece clicked into motion, bringing the view of his quarry even closer. It was nothing. A small female child was being reprimanded by its parental unit. The child seemed to have dropped one of the frozen iced cream delicacies favored by the idle rich. The parental unit, a "mother", judging by the clothing and the hair, grabbed the child's arm and led the girl away. The Watcher's eyepiece ratcheted back to normal magnification.   
  
Another sound caused another turn of the head. This time it was an adult male berating what appeared to be another adult male. The noise-making male, who sat at the front of a horse-and-carriage, was also making rude hand gestures at the other male, who was helping an adult female disembark from the cab. The female stood quietly as her male compatriot humbly accepted the verbal abuse from the driver of the cab. Finally the driver threw up his hands in what appeared to be annoyed defeat, and directed the horses to move the now-empty carriage along, leaving the other male and his female standing in front of Ford's Theatre.  
  
The Watcher zoomed his eyepiece in further. There was something odd about these two newcomers. At first the Watcher could not define it. Then it came to him. Their clothes. Their clothing seemed unusual. The male was not wearing a uniform belonging to either side of the War Between the States, and neither was he wearing anything resembling what the Watcher had observed being worn by other non-military males. The female was wearing clothing that would almost be considered scandalous. The Watcher impassionately noted that the female was showing decidedly more leg-skin than was customarily allowed in public. The Watcher noted that he could almost see the female's knees, but not quite.  
  
The Watcher kept his eyepiece trained on the pair as he reached for his belt, and brought up his auralgun. He pointed the pistol-like device at the two figures, pulled the trigger, and the barrel of the auralgun extended outwards a few inches. The Watcher's earpiece crackled to life as the auralgun began picking up the conversation occurring between the male and the female.  
  
Male: "I'm sorry, Betty. That ruse usually works like a charm."  
  
Female: "It seems you're a bit out of your league here, Scott."  
  
Male: "Well, time travel tends to do that to a person, I'd say."  
  
The Watcher nearly fell out of his tree. He put out a hand to stop himself from actually slipping. Intrigued, he turned up the volume on his earpiece.  
  
Female: "We must have travelled, what, about 80 years into the past?"  
  
Male: "That'd be my guess. What the heck was that thing? I thought it was just an airship. Guess it was something a bit more special than that."  
  
The Watcher felt he had heard enough to report in. He breathed in deep, and projected his mind in the direction of his all-powerful leader, Count Gregory. **My Lord,** he thought.   
  
**Report,** he heard Count Gregory reply deep in his mind.  
  
**There are two unknown humans here. They appear to have come from the future.**  
  
There was a slight pause before Count Gregory replied. **Explain.**  
  
The Watcher continued. **I have heard them talk of travelling back in time from a point approximately 80 years from the present. Also, I have noted that their manner of clothing does not conform with modern styles. My conclusion is they are speaking truthfully, My Lord.**  
  
**Very well,** Count Gregory acknowledged. **Follow them and observe them, but at this point do not intervene or confront them. Perhaps they will lead you to the means of their time travel. You will prevent them from using their time travel device if they attempt to use it. Their device must be used for the good of the League of Darkness. Do I make myself understood?**   
  
**Yes, My Lord,** the Watcher replied humbly. He felt Count Gregory disengage from his mind, and his thoughts were alone once more.   
  
The Watcher blinked, and noted that his quarry had begun walking off, away from Ford's Theatre. The Watcher stealthily slithered down the trunk of the tree, dashed to a nearby bush, and crept along, keeping the male and female within sight at all times...  
  
*****  
  
"We might as well do a little sight-seeing before we head back to the ship, don't you think, Betty?" Scott said, with an obvious bit of hope in his voice.  
  
Betty sighed and nodded. "I almost wish we didn't have to go back. This is so amazing, Scott. To be back in the middle of history!"  
  
Scott casually put an arm around Betty as they strolled along. "I know, it's wonderful," he said with an air of relaxed contentment.  
  
They continued down a tree-lined avenue. They turned a corner, and the sight that assaulted their eyes brought them both up short. They looked at each other in disbelief, before quickly looking back at the object that caused their surprise.   
  
"It's the Aurora!" cried Betty.  
  
Parked in a clearing in front of them, they saw the airship Aurora. It rested comfortably on the ground, its balloon still inflated and floating gently in the breeze.  
  
"It is, but it's not quite the same one that we used," Scott replied, equally awestruck. "This one's still got the balloon!" He started to rush off towards it, only to be held back by Betty.  
  
"Wait, Scott..." Betty said quietly.  
  
"What is it, Betty?" Scott said, concerned.  
  
Betty pursed her lips before continuing. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, if I'm guessing right, we might be about to meet... Jules Verne! And... I know this sounds ridiculous as I'm saying it, but we might even meet Phileas Fogg!"  
  
Scott grinned. "See? I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking. He is real, admit it, you think he exists, too."  
  
Betty nodded, a tiny smile forming on her lips. "Oh, all right, Scott, I admit it. I'm hoping he exists, too. But, still... I'm just a bit shy of meeting the great Jules Verne. Think of it, Scott. The man who invented science fiction! It's fantastic!"  
  
Scott laughed, and said, "Let's go see just how fantastic he was, Betty!" He headed off in the direction of the parked Aurora.  
  
Betty hurried to catch up with Scott. She met up with him just as he reached the door of the Aurora.  
  
Scott turned to Betty. "I think I'll knock this time. Unless you'd care to do the honors, Betty?"  
  
Betty, still a bit in awe of meeting one of her favorite writers, hesitated for a brief instant. Then, steeling herself, she reached out a hand, and firmly rapped at the door.  
  
There was a pause, and they heard a noise of some sort from inside the craft. The door swung open gently, revealing a dark-haired, goateed man clothed in the style of a gentleman's valet. "Yes? How am I to be helping you?" the man asked cheerfully.  
  
A voice called out from the interior of the airship. "Who is it, Passepartout?"  
  
Betty glanced at Scott, and mouthed, "Passepartout!" to him. Scott just grinned back.  
  
"Who are you?" Passepartout asked graciously.  
  
Scott held out his hand. "I'm Scott Sherwood, and this is Miss Betty Roberts. We're here to see the owner of this airship."  
  
Passepartout shook Scott's hand, and answered, "Ah! Is Mister Fogg to be expecting you?"  
  
"Told you so," Scott whispered to Betty, before continuing with, "I don't think so, you see... we're from the future!"  
  
Passepartout released Scott's hand suddenly. He paused, looked back inside the airship, and then back at Scott and Betty. "I am thinking you had better come inside, sir, ma'am." He stood aside to let them through the door.  
  
Inside the airship, Scott and Betty looked around themselves, once more in awe. This was indeed the Aurora. The interior looked almost exactly as the one they had apparently time-travelled in. The key difference seemed to be that there were other people in it. Two other people besides Passepartout, to be exact.  
  
One of the occupants was a tall, finely dressed gentleman. He had short, slightly greying hair, with precisely shaved, pointed sideburns. Even the way he stood marked him out as one who thought of himself as a member of the elite. Proud, dignified, elegant, he looked at Scott and Betty with an arched eyebrow.  
  
Proud, dignified, and elegant could also be used to describe the other occupant of the main cabin of the airship. Standing next to the gentleman was a very beautiful woman. Her red hair curled down to her shoulders, and rich purple dress was breathtaking. She held herself perhaps a bit more strongly than many of the more demure ladies of the period might have. She had a slight smile etched on her face.  
  
Passepartout closed the door, and began the introductions. "Master, may I present to you Mister Scott Sherwood and Miss Betty Roberts. Mister Sherwood, Miss Roberts, may I present to you Mister Phileas Fogg, and Miss Rebecca Fogg."  
  
Hands were shaken, and curtsies were exchanged. Passepartout continued. "Mister Sherwood has been saying that they are coming from the future, Master."  
  
Phileas Fogg's eyebrow arched even further. "Ah! Has he been saying that, indeed? Well, Mister Sherwood, your taste in clothing seems to be a bit unusual, to say the least. Have you any proof of your statement, other than your word?"  
  
Scott tore his eyes away from Rebecca Fogg. "Uh, oh yeah. We've got a key to your airship, and something else. Show him, Betty."  
  
As Betty dug in her purse for the key and the crystal sphere, another voice echoed into the cabin from along the nearby corridor. "I heard some voices, Phileas, what's going on?" A young man emerged from the hallway, and stood next to Passepartout. He was full of youthful energy, and his clothing suggested a rather poorer background than that of either of the Foggs.  
  
Passepartout said, "I will introduce again. Master Jules, may I present to you Mister Scott Sherwood and Miss Betty Roberts from the future. Mister Sherwood, Miss Roberts, may I present to you Monsieur Jules Verne from Paris."  
  
Betty's eyes widened as she looked at the young man.  
  
Meanwhile, as he was being introduced to Miss Betty Roberts, Jules Verne fell in love...  
  
Jules Verne extended his hand to Betty Roberts. "Miss Roberts," he said, smiling. "Delighted to meet you."   
  
Betty blinked once. She blinked again.  
  
Scott nudged Betty in the ribs. "Betty, wake up," he whispered.  
  
Betty blinked again, then shook her head. "Oh!" she said, still a bit distracted. "Um, pleased to meet you, too, Monsieur Verne." Betty took Jules' proffered hand, and blushed as Jules gently kissed it in what she assumed was the traditional European manner.  
  
Jules turned to Scott and also extended a hand. "And you, Mr. Sherwood," he he continued, his eyes almost disappointedly tearing themselves away from Betty. "A pleasure." Jules and Scott shook hands.  
  
"Now that we've all been introduced," Phileas interjected haughtily, "what's all this about being from the future?"  
  
Scott stepped forward, and put an arm around Phileas. "Well, Phil, may I call you Phil?" Phileas narrowed his eyes and silently looked at Scott. "Phil, here's the thing. We're from the year 1941. We came across a key and some sort of sphere thing inside a book, and we found a card that led us to the Smithsonian Institution. So, once we got to the Smithsonian, we found this airship. Well, to be more precise, not *this* airship. Well, on second thought, maybe it was this airship. But there were a few differences, like the fact that this one has a balloon still attached. And there was a gold panel off to the side of that big control globe thing up front on the other one, the one we came in. I don't see that panel over there in this airship."  
  
Rebecca stepped closer to Scott. "But it was called the Aurora, was it not?"  
  
"It sure was, Miss Fogg," Scott said, turning his charming smile upon Rebecca. Rebecca smirked and smiled slightly back...  
  
...Meanwhile, Jules moved a bit closer to Betty. Betty smiled shyly at Jules. "Um, you're a writer, aren't you, Monsieur Verne?" Betty asked, quietly.  
  
Jules nodded. "Yes, I am, Miss Roberts. And, please, call me Jules."  
  
Betty's grin widened. "OK. Jules." She giggled. "You can call me Betty."  
  
"If you wish."  
  
Betty smiled, and looked at the floor. Then she took a deep breath, and said, "Oh, this is silly! Of course you're a writer! I'm from the future and I'm a huge fan of your books!"  
  
Jules' eyes widened, and he said, "Well, that's encouraging to hear. So, I'll be a successful writer, will I?"  
  
Betty nodded. "Oh. But I probably shouldn't say too much, should I? I mean, I don't want to change the past. I mean, change the future. I mean... I don't know what I mean."  
  
"I think I know what you mean," Jules replied. "One shouldn't be given the answers to the future. One must push on to discover them by one's self, with their own will and mind power. Otherwise, what is the point? One must always endeavor to face new challenges with a fresh viewpoint. It feels too much like cheating, otherwise."  
  
Betty looked into Jules' eyes. "Exactly," she said. She paused, looking down at the floor again. "I'm a writer, too," she said shyly.  
  
"Really?" Jules said. "I'd love to read what you've written. As long as it's not about me, of course."  
  
"Oh, I'd never write about you, Jules," Betty replied without thinking. Seeing the hurt look on Jules' face she hurriedly continued, "That's only because you're way out of my league when it comes to writing. I write mainly radio scripts."  
  
"Radio? What's that?" Jules asked.  
  
Betty shook her head. "Oh, boy. I should just shut up before I ruin everything."  
  
Jules laughed. "Don't worry, it's fine. I understand."  
  
Betty chuckled, too. "Thank you," she said...  
  
...Scott Sherwood, meanwhile, had continued to try to prove that he was from the future. None of his attempts had met Phileas' satisfaction. Scott was now seated at a small table towards the rear of the main cabin. "If only I had something..." Scott said, scratching his head. "Wait! I've got it!"  
  
Phileas, standing nearby, hands on hips, raised an eyebrow once again. "Indeed? And what is that, pray tell?"  
  
Scott dug into one of his pockets. "This should go some way to proving things." He proceeded to clean out his pockets, depositing a tiny ball of string, some chewing gum, and a deck of playing cards onto the table.   
  
Spotting the deck of cards, Phileas' eyes lit up. "Ah! I see you are a man who enjoys card-playing."  
  
Scott looked up. "Huh? Oh. Yeah, I usually keep a deck on me, just to keep in practice."  
  
Phileas smiled. Noticing his smile, Rebecca rolled her eyes, saying, "Oh, goodness. Phileas and his ridiculous card games."  
  
Phileas turned to Rebecca. "They are not 'ridiculous', Rebecca. Playing cards is a great skill, it takes an extraordinary amount of intellect, cunning, guile, wit, and a healthy amount of deception."  
  
"No wonder Scott loves to play," Betty chimed in, earning her a big smile from Scott.  
  
"Not only do I play," Scott said, finally finding what he wanted and laying it out on the table. "I play for money." Before him, on the table, were several bills of American currency, circa 1940.  
  
Now Phileas' interest was complete. "I see that you are a man after my own heart, Mister Sherwood. Might I invite you out for some entertainment this evening? I know several establishments around here that would delight in our company. I was planning on going out this evening anyway, so would you care to join me?"  
  
Scott stood up, gathering his items and stuffing them back into his pockets. "Well, sure, but what about proving that whole 'from the future' thing?"  
  
Phileas smiled, and clapped his arm around Scott's shoulder. "Well, we can discuss that over the nearest gaming table." He began to lead Scott towards the door. "Oh, Rebecca, look after the Aurora for us, would you? Well, Mister Sherwood, how about we start over at Preston & Logan's? They have a wonderful place just a few streets over. Or we might stop by my old friend Richard Collier's establishment..." His voice trailed off as the two men exited the Aurora.  
  
Rebecca folded her arms, and replied, "Why not? Someone's got to do it. Oh, I'm sorry, Passepartout, I know you do a fabulous job looking after the Aurora."  
  
Passepartout smiled broadly. "Thank you, Miss Rebecca."  
  
Rebecca turned to Jules and Betty. "And what about you two? Fancy a night on the town?"  
  
Jules and Betty looked at one another. "Well..." Jules began.  
  
"Go on, you two," Rebecca smiled. "Get some fresh air. I'll stay here and... keep watch, I suppose." She sat down in a nearby chair. "Passepartout? I'll have a nice glass of wine, please."  
  
"Certainly, Miss Rebecca," Passepartout nodded as he departed to hunt down the requested beverage.  
  
Jules extended his hand to Betty. "Shall we?" he asked.  
  
Betty grinned as she took the proffered hand. "Why not?"  
  
*****  
  
Jules Verne and Betty Roberts strolled along the darkening street. Once they got over their initial awkwardness, the two writers found a common ground to talk about. They were able to avoid specific mentions of anything in Betty's past and Jules' future by mainly talking about writing in general. Characters, motivations, plots, schemes, bad guys, good guys, romance, tragedy, comedy... They spoke of other worlds, of faraway places. They spoke of history, of Ancient Egypt, of Napoleonic France, of the American Revolution.  
  
But mainly, whatever they spoke about, the topic drifted back to writing. They couldn't help it, it was in their blood. And as they spoke more and more about their passion for their words, they felt less and less inhibited. Soon they were speaking quite freely about relationships, men, women, romance, love, things of that nature.   
  
It was as they were discussing these things that Jules fell silent, while Betty talked on for a bit. Finally, when Betty paused at one point, Jules turned to her.   
  
"This Scott Sherwood fellow..." he asked.  
  
Betty stopped. "Yes?" She narrowed her eyes, as she looked at Jules. "What about him?"  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
Betty's eyes popped wide open. "What? You have got to be kidding!" Betty laughed. "Me? And Scott Sherwood?"  
  
Jules nodded. "I thought so." He smiled, and resumed walking down the avenue.  
  
Betty jogged to catch up with him. "Now, wait a minute, Jules! I never said I loved him!"  
  
"You didn't have to say it. I could see it. I could see it in your eyes when you saw him leaving with Phileas earlier."  
  
Betty thought about it for a moment. "Well. Hmmm. I don't know what to say."  
  
Jules laughed. "You could admit it, Betty. You know you'll feel a whole lot better about yourself and your place in the world, in Scott's world, once you admit it to yourself."  
  
Betty stopped again. Jules stopped as well.   
  
"Oh, fiddlesticks!" Betty pouted. "All right! I admit it! I love--"  
  
A metal bar swung down and struck Betty on the side of her head, knocking her to the ground, unconscious.   
  
"Betty!" Jules cried. He knelt by her body, and looked up at her attacker. The man was dressed all in black, and wore a strange device on his head. The attacker clutched the metal bar and held it aloft.   
  
"I got tired of waiting," the Watcher rumbled in his monotone voice. He swung the bar once more, aiming for Jules Verne's skull...  
  
*****  
  
The hand swept down, and struck the surface with a dull thud. The hand withdrew, leaving the playing cards resting face-down on the surface of the gaming table.  
  
"Aw, heck, I fold," Scott Sherwood said somewhat glumly. He leaned over to whisper to Phileas, "Remind me to pay you back somehow."  
  
Phileas shook his head, saying, "Nonsense, Sherwood, think nothing of it. A favor from one enlightened gentleman to another." Phileas looked around to the remaining cardplayers, pushed forward several gaming chips, and said, "Call."  
  
"Two pair, Queens and Threes," Richard Collier announced.  
  
"Three of a kind, all Aces," smiled the Doctor.  
  
"Two Fours," grumbled Doc Brown.  
  
James Cole, grimacing, said, "Three Sixes."  
  
"Full house, Jacks and Nines", said Phileas smugly. He raked in the chips as the others threw down their cards disappointedly. "Well, gentlemen, I hate to win and run, but we really should be getting back, shouldn't we, Sherwood?"  
  
"Good idea, Phil," Scott said, as Phileas winced once more at the nickname Scott seemed to enjoy using.  
  
"Please, Sherwood, it's 'Phileas'," Fogg said as he stood up and moved to cash in his chips. Taking his money and putting it safely away, he led Scott towards the exit of Preston & Logan's, and out into the street.   
  
The dark of evening had descended whilst the pair had been enjoying their cardplaying. The breeze from earlier had stilled, and the trees lining the avenue no longer swayed in the wind.   
  
"Do you know, Sherwood," Phileas said pleasantly as they walked along the street on their way back to the Aurora, "I've had the most pleasant time this evening winning back the money I let you borrow."  
  
Scott laughed. "You know, I didn't even think of it that way, Phileas."  
  
"Well, I knew I could never bear to part with so much money once I saw how badly you were playing this tonight."  
  
"Yeah, I don't know what to say, I'm usually on top of my game," Scott said, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Well, you got your money back, so no harm done, right?"  
  
Phileas smiled as they turned a corner to head down a side street. "No problem, Sherwood..." He trailed off as he saw what the side street revealed a short distance away. "Rebecca, what the hell has been going on??" he called as he and Scott dashed over to her.  
  
Rebecca Fogg, clad in a tight-fitting leather outfit, gadgets and gizmos attached to her belt and other places, stood poised and ready to strike, one foot firmly on top of a black-clad man who lay face-down and unconscious on the street. Jules Verne knelt beside an unconscious Betty Roberts, gently attempting to revive her.  
  
"I got tired of waiting," Rebecca replied slyly.   
  
Scott rushed over to Betty and crouched down next to her, asking Jules, "Is she all right?"  
  
Jules looked up at Scott. "I think so. She wasn't struck very strongly, I think she's coming around."  
  
Betty's eyes fluttered, and she tried to focus her eyes. She smiled weakly as she saw Scott. "Hi..." she attempted to say.   
  
"Shhh, shhh, don't speak, Betty," Scott said soothingly, running his fingers through her hair. "It's OK, you're all right." Scott kept his eyes locked on Betty's as he asked Jules, "What happened?"  
  
Jules stood up, leaving Betty in Scott's arms. "I think the League of Darkness is after us again. They are a group of men and women determined to bring chaos and evil into the world. We've run up against them a few times before. This one attacked Betty, and was about to attack me."  
  
Rebecca interrupted, saying, "Fortunately I was happening by. Well, not exactly coincidentally. I thought I had seen something out the Aurora's windows just after Betty and Jules left, so I decided to follow them. Once I saw this fellow attack Miss Roberts, I had to intercede."  
  
"Thank you, Rebecca," Scott said, as he helped Betty stand up.  
  
Rebecca picked up the unconscious Watcher and dumped him unceremoniously into some nearby bushes, neatly brushing herself down afterwards.  
  
Phileas looked around. "How many times have we told you not to walk down darkened streets, Jules?" he said scoldingly. "Come on, we'd best be getting back to the Aurora."  
  
As Scott helped Betty walk gingerly back towards the airship, Jules, Phileas and Rebecca kept alert, scanning their surroundings constantly.  
  
*****  
  
Passepartout threw open the doors as he saw the group approach the airship. "Master! What is been going on? Is Miss Roberts being hurt?"  
  
Scott led Betty over to a chair, and helped her ease down into a comfortable position.  
  
"Passepartout, we must be on our guard," Phileas said sternly. "The League of Darkness is about. Would you mind making some tea for our guests?"  
  
Passepartout's eyes widened at the mention of the League. He nodded and withdrew to prepare the requested beverages.  
  
Scott pulled up a chair next to Betty and sat, holding her hand. "I'm OK, Scott," she said, "you don't need to be so protective."  
  
"I know," Scott said, smiling. He noticed Betty didn't protest much further, nor did she withdraw her hand.  
  
Meanwhile, Phileas, Rebecca and Jules conferred about the situation.  
  
"I think," Phileas announced, "that the League of Darkness knows about our guests, and the fact that they have come from the future."  
  
"How could they know that?" Jules asked.  
  
"Well, at a guess," Rebecca explained, "for one thing I'd say their style of dress might give it away. Also, the League has demonstrated their ability to overhear our private conversations from a distance. I'd hazard a guess that after our conversation in the Aurora, our friend out there was hoping he'd be led to the means of their time travel. Once he figured out that wasn't where they were headed, he got impatient and attempted a kidnapping. I can only assume they would have attempted to torture her to get the information."  
  
Scott looked up in shock. "Torture?"  
  
"Yes, Sherwood," Phileas said gently. "The League is very adept at gleaning any sort of information they desire out of their captives."  
  
"Why go after Betty?" Scott asked, his anger rising.   
  
Rebecca replied, "I would say that they assumed that Miss Roberts would be the... excuse the expression, Miss Roberts... 'weaker' of you two. Therefore, she would be the easier subject for interrogation."  
  
Scott frowned, and looked at Betty. "I'm sorry, Betty. I'm sorry I got you into this mess."  
  
"It's all right, Scott," Betty answered, smiling back at the angered Scott Sherwood.  
  
Scott turned back to the Foggs and Jules Verne, as Passepartout returned with their tea. "Where can we find this League of Darkness?" he asked them, his voice seething with vengeance.  
  
*****  
  
"There, just over there, see them?" Phileas Fogg said, passing his telescope to Scott Sherwood. "There's one of them ducking into the cave entrance."  
  
Scott pressed the scope to his eye, and quickly tried to focus. He caught sight of a dark-clad figure surreptitiously scurrying into the cave situated across from them. He lowered the telescope, and eased back down onto the rocks. He paused to look out at the Potomac River that sussurated softly nearby. "Their headquarters?" he asked, eyeing the approaching dawn.  
  
Rebecca lowered her own set of binoculars. "Doubtful. More likely just their local hideout. I imagine their headquarters are somewhere on the continent, probably France or England." She tucked her binoculars back into their pouch on her leather form-fitting catsuit. "Are you sure you want to do this, Scott?"  
  
Scott turned from the river, and looked Rebecca straight in the eye. "If it'll keep Betty safe, there is nothing on God's green Earth that'll stop me from going in there."   
  
Rebecca nodded, a sly grin forming on her lips. "I had a feeling you'd say yes."  
  
Phileas picked himself up from the rocks, and began to move forward in a crouch. "This way, come on." Rebecca and Scott followed, both keeping low.  
  
The sun began to peek over the horizon as Rebecca crept up behind the lone member of the League of Darkness left behind to guard the cave entrance. She tapped the guard on the shoulder, and as the hapless guard turned around, she thwacked him senseless with a hard palm to the base of his jaw. The guard fell to the ground.  
  
Rebecca beckoned for Phileas and Scott to follow her as she made her way into the cave system...  
  
*****  
  
"Jules... it's so beautiful!" Betty Roberts breathed.  
  
Jules Verne turned to face Betty. "It is, isn't it?" he replied, smiling. "I love this time of day. A new day, new possibilities. Always something to look forward to."  
  
The rays of the sun finally broke free from the horizon, and shone golden light onto Betty's face as she stood on the prow of the Aurora. She looked down, watching the trees rush by underneath, as Passepartout piloted the airship above the Maryland countryside.  
  
Even as the light brightened her face, her eyes hinted at a sadness, a fear. "I wish Scott wouldn't be so impulsive, sometimes."  
  
Jules rolled his eyes. Scott again, he thought. I wish we could get back to discussing our mutual craft of writing! "Well," he said aloud, "I'm sure he felt strongly enough about this that he felt he just had to go."  
  
Betty turned from the glorious dawn view. "I know," she said. "I wish I could have gone with them. But, no, Betty Roberts shouldn't be putting herself in danger, oh, no! Better to be safe and secure, flying high in the sky, where no one can touch me. Oh, well. I know Scott means well." She wandered back into the main cabin of the airship, and sat down at the table. She idly picked through some of the papers scattered nearby, and picked one up. "'Around the World in 100 Days'?" she read out loud. "You can't be serious!" she chuckled.  
  
Jules wandered over to her. "I know, it sounds wrong to me, too," he said. "I was thinking maybe 99 days. You know, to make it seem even more fantastic. What do you think? Do you think we could travel around the world in 99 days in the Aurora?"  
  
Passepartout turned from the steering globe. "I do, Master Jules," he said cheerfully. "As a matter of factual, I am thinking I might even be doing it in less days. Maybe even 90!"  
  
Betty laughed. "This is getting out of hand, boys," she said.  
  
Jules turned back to her. "Why? You don't think Passepartout could do it?"  
  
Betty paused to wipe a tear from her eye. "Oh, no, it's not that, it's just... well, I really can't say."  
  
Jules looked confused, then nodded as he understood. "Yes. The time factor again. I guess we shouldn't talk about this any more, should we?"  
  
Betty giggled again. "Oh, goodness!" She tried to catch her breath. "I can't seem to stop laughing," she said between breaths.  
  
"It's the rarefied air," Jules explained. "The atmosphere is thinner at this altitude, and your lungs aren't getting enough air to keep things flowing like they normally would be. You'll get used to it."  
  
"Yes," Passepartout chimed in. "Looking at me, for instance. You would not be saying that I am affected by the thinnening of the airs, would you?"  
  
Betty looked at the silly grin plastered on Passepartout's face, and burst out laughing again.  
  
*****  
  
Rebecca crouched low, keeping to one side of the small tunnel cut into the rock. Scott followed close behind, with Phileas bringing up the rear. Scott, also crouching, couldn't help but notice how tight and form-fitting Rebecca's leather catsuit was, and how it clung to Rebecca's curves. He smiled, turned to Phileas, and waggled his eyebrows, nodding his head in the direction of Rebecca.  
  
Phileas thwacked Scott with the backside of his hand, hissing, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Sherwood. Keep your mind on the task at hand!"  
  
Scott grinned sheepishly, and turned to follow Rebecca. Unfortunately, Rebecca had already stopped, and Scott bumped into her. "Sorry," he whispered. Rebecca shushed him with her hands, and the little group crouched down even further.  
  
"What is it?" Phileas whispered from the rear of the group. He moved a bit closer, peeking over Scott and Rebecca.  
  
"I think we've found what we're looking for," Rebecca said softly.  
  
Spread out before them was a large chamber, filled with clanking machines and hissing devices of steam-power. In the center, directing his black-clad minions, was the leader of the League of Darkness. Seated, if one could call someone who was in several separate pieces, in his special chair, barking out commands in his gruff voice, was Count Gregory.   
  
Torn apart by the Turks in the 13th century, and managing to survive by his own will and ingenious devices, Count Gregory had formed the League of Darkness to bring his special brand of chaos to the world. Foiled on several occasions by Jules Verne and the Foggs, Count Gregory was once more attempting to conquer the world.   
  
"Count Gregory," Phileas hissed. "Doesn't this fellow ever stay dead?"  
  
"Sounds like a couple of sponsors I could mention," Scott grumbled.  
  
"Will you pipe down, Sherwood?" Phileas said, nudging Scott slightly. Scott, caught off balance, stumbled forward, tripping over Rebecca's leg. Scott went sprawling to the floor just inside the entrance to the main chamber. All activity in the chamber stopped, as Count Gregory and his minions paused, and turned to look at the intruder.   
  
Scott pushed himself up off the floor, to see himself surrounded by members of the League of Darkness. "Um... hi there!" Rebecca and Phileas were pushed forward by more guards, and were made to stand on either side of Scott.  
  
Count Gregory moved his large, cumbersome chair closer to the three intruders. "So..." he said, his voice rumbling throughout the cavernous chamber. "Once again I have the pleasure of seeing the lovely Rebecca Fogg. And the joy of seeing Phileas Fogg. However, I don't think the other gentleman and I are acquainted." His chair rolled to a stop in front of Scott. "And who might you be?" Count Gregory asked silkily.  
  
"Scott Sherwood, and you are?"  
  
"Surely these two have told you about me?" Count Gregory replied, looking in turn at Phileas and Rebecca. "No? I am disappointed in you, Rebecca, Phileas. I was sure you'd tell the whole world about Count Gregory and my 'evil' ways."  
  
Rebecca laughed a sharp laugh. "Why bother? All you are is a simple nuisance, not a force to be reckoned with."  
  
"Oh, well said, Rebecca," Phileas said, grinning at Rebecca.  
  
"Thank you, Phileas, best I could manage at such short notice."  
  
"SILENCE!" Count Gregory roared.  
  
"If I don't know who you are, can I go?" Scott asked in the silence that followed Count Gregory's bellowed command.  
  
The Count rolled his chair even closer to Scott in response. "No, my dear Mister Sherwood, you may not. In fact, I think you'll be the first candidate for my new interrogation machine."  
  
"Somehow, I don't like the sound of that," Scott said.   
  
"Most people don't," Count Gregory said, as he rolled back away from Scott, and moved over to another part of the chamber. A guard stood next to a dark metal slab, which featured several metal straps, and a few rough leather belts as well. The guard opened the straps and belts.  
  
Two guards came out of the darkness from the sides of the chamber, and took Scott's arms.  
  
"This new interrogation device will not be pleasant for you," the Count said. "However, it has not been designed for comfort. Quite the opposite, in fact. Any attempt to lie, and the machine will detect it, using the patterns of your brain to determine truth or falsehood. So I suggest you drop any pretense that you might lie your way out of the situation, Mister Sherwood. I intend to find out where you have come from, and how you have managed to travel in time."  
  
Count Gregory turned to yet another guard, this one standing next to a gigantic piece of equipment. "Switch on the power," the Count instructed. The guard nodded mindlessly, turned to the large machine, and threw a lever. Sparks jumped from the lever, and more sparks and lightning jumped from other places around the large electric machine. The sparks jumped and danced, and made their way along some wires to the metal slab, to which Scott Sherwood was being led.   
  
"Uh, Rebecca? Phileas?" Scott said, nervously. "Remember how you were telling me how you used to kick these's guys butts all the time? Now would be a great time to prove that."  
  
Rebecca and Phileas turned to each other. "Very well, if you insist," Phileas said calmly. He struck out violently, and caught his guard in the throat with a vicious right-handed chop. Rebecca grabbed her own guard's arm, spun him about, and hurled him to the ground. Phileas dashed over to Scott, kicking one guard away, and throwing his arm around the throat of the other. Scott tumbled to the ground.  
  
Count Gregory's eyes widened as he took all this in. He began to tremble with rage, and suddenly cried out, "Fusion power!!" The electricity from the nearby machine began arcing towards his chair, and lighting leapt from his separated limbs. The limbs began to move back towards Count Gregory's torso, attaching themselves to it, as did the Count's head. Suddenly whole once again, Count Gregory stood up slowly from his chair. He began to move towards Phileas.  
  
Rebecca, meanwhile, had produced a small device from one of the pockets on her catsuit. Twisting a dial on the surface of the device, she threw it up and onto the top of the giant, sparking electric machine. "Come on, Phileas, Scott, we've got seconds to get out of here!" she yelled.  
  
Phileas, throwing aside the guard with the broken neck, helped Scott to his feet. They looked up to see Count Gregory lumbering towards them. As one, Phileas and Scott thrust out their legs and kicked with all their might, sending the Count reeling backwards and into the sparking machine. As the Count's metal-suited body made contact with the electricity machine, his eyes widened, and he began to shake and shake and shake. Suddenly, he stopped, and fell forward, face-first onto the floor.   
  
Phileas and Scott paused just long enough to make sure the Count wasn't about to get up, then they dashed towards the tunnel in pursuit of the already-fleeing Rebecca.  
  
As they made their hurried way down the narrow tunnel towards freedom, Phileas and Scott caught up with Rebecca. Phileas shouted to Rebecca over the noise of the explosions and chaos behind them. "Nice work back there, Rebecca."  
  
"Thank you, Phileas," Rebecca grinned as she ran. "All in a day's work for an agent of the British Secret Service."   
  
Scott, lagging a bit behind, was running short of breath. He paused, attempting to catch his breath. Suddenly, he found he couldn't breathe at all. Mainly because a metal-gloved hand was clamped over his nose and mouth. He found himself being dragged off into a side tunnel, just as a huge fireball rushed past them down the main tunnel.  
  
"I've decided to move the interrogation to somewhere a bit more secure," Count Gregory wheezed into Scott's ear, as the Count dragged the struggling Scott down the side tunnel...  
  
*****  
  
The Aurora settled smoothly down onto the ground. Rebecca and Phileas dashed hurriedly inside the airship.   
  
"Is everything all right?" Jules asked.  
  
Betty looked past the Foggs. "Um... where's Scott?"  
  
Phileas and Rebecca looked at each other, and turned back to face Betty. "We, um..." Rebecca started.  
  
"We lost him," Phileas finished quietly. He placed a comforting hand on Betty's shoulder. "I'm sorry."  
  
"What happened?" Betty asked, panic not quite in her voice just yet, but definitely somewhere in the vicinity.  
  
"We believe he was kidnapped by Count Gregory," Rebecca explained. "We've already been in touch with the police, and they have orders to keep a lookout for any more members of the League of Darkness and report to us when any have been located."  
  
Betty walked over to the nearby table, and sat down, taking everything in. "Why?"  
  
Jules sat down next to her. "I imagine they want to find out about where the two of you have come from, and how you came to be here."  
  
Betty looked up at Jules. "I see. Well, it's pretty clear to me what we have to do."  
  
"What's that?" Jules asked.  
  
Betty stood up again, fisted balled at her side. "We have to go and rescue Scott."  
  
Phileas moved to her side. "But we don't even know where he is. It may take us some time to track him down."  
  
Suddenly there was a knock on the door to the airship. Passepartout moved quickly to open the door. A young Washington police officer hopped inside, his youth showing in his exuberance. "Mr. Fogg, sir! We've found one of the League of Gentlemen you wanted us to look for!"  
  
Phileas rolled his eyes. "I believe what I said was to keep an eye out for gentlemen from the League of *Darkness*..."  
  
Rebecca pushed Phileas aside, saying, "Oh, do shut up, Phileas!" Turning to the young officer, she smiled and asked, "And just where might we find this evil person?"  
  
*****  
  
"Are you almost ready?" Rebecca called out.   
  
"Just about," came the reply. There was a pause, and then Betty Roberts gingerly stepped out from behind the partition screen and into the main part of Rebecca's room on the Aurora. "Well? What do you think?"  
  
Rebecca looked at Betty, scrutinizing her from head to toe. Betty was clad in one of Rebecca's spare leather catsuit outfits. The suit was not quite as form-hugging as when Rebecca wore it, but it clung to Betty's shape rather nicely anyway. Betty's version did not have quite as many weapon attachments as the one that Rebecca was currently wearing, but nonetheless, Betty Roberts managed to actually look somewhat formidable in the suit.  
  
"Stunning," replied Rebecca, with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in her eye. A sly little grin formed on her face. "Just wait until Scott sees you in that!" she chuckled.  
  
Betty giggled a bit as well. "He's seen me in far less than this!" she said, which sent up Rebecca's eyebrow even further.  
  
"Oh, really?" Rebecca giggled in return.  
  
"Oh yes," Betty continued, as she and Rebecca linked arms and strolled out into the main corridor of the Aurora, heading for the main cabin. "It was this sort of harem-girl outfit..."  
  
"Ah," said Rebecca. "Understood completely."  
  
Betty and Rebecca reached the main room of the Aurora to find Jules, Passepartout, and Phileas already waiting.  
  
Phileas looked at Rebecca, who nodded at him. He turned to Betty. "Are we ready?"  
  
Betty took a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."  
  
Jules stepped forward. "Let's get going."  
  
*****  
  
The young police officer, a Lieutenant McFly, led the group to a dark alley between two clothing stores on a small side street in downtown Washington. "He was seen entering this alley, but he never came out again," McFly reported.  
  
Phileas nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be all."  
  
McFly gulped, and said, "Thank you, sir," before scampering thankfully away.  
  
Jules peered into the gloom of the alleyway. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this," he said.  
  
"How long before we--" began Passepartout before a beam of bright light struck his eyes. Passepartout hurriedly shut his eyes, but the others were able to see what happened.   
  
A doorway, previously concealed as a mass of garbage, had opened up towards the back of the alley. A short, dumpy-looking minion of the League of Darkness shuffled out, dumped a box of garbage into the alley, and was about to close the door again behind him, when he noticed two beautiful women in dark, leather outfits running directly at him. He yelped, and tried to close the door quickly, but the two women caught up with him before he could get away. Rebecca landed on him first, bringing him down to the ground. Betty was right behind, and she knelt down on the ground, clutching the minion's clump of hair, twisting it. "Are you with the League of Darkness?" Betty asked through gritted teeth.  
  
The poor minion could only barely gasp out a feeble "Yes!" as Rebecca thrust a knee into his chest. Once he had given up his information, Rebecca thumped him on the head, rendering him unconscious. Rebecca helped Betty shove the sleeping man into the pile of garbage. Phileas, Passepartout and Jules walked almost casually up to the secret entrance. "Good work, everyone," Phileas said, "let's get inside."  
  
*****  
  
After moving through several cramped corridors, the rescue party finally reached a big, solid metal door. Fortunately, it was slightly ajar, allowing the group to hear a raspy voice cough out the words, "I'll never let you hurt Betty Roberts if it's the last thing I ever do!"  
  
Betty looked at Rebecca, who nodded silently. Betty nodded back, tensed herself, and rushed at the giant door, kicking it further open, and barging her way inside the room. She came up short as she saw the scene before her.   
  
Scott Sherwood lay on his back, strapped to a wooden table, his shirt torn open, several cuts across his chest dribbling blood onto the floor. Count Gregory, still maintaining his intact body, stood over him with a giant sword in his hand.  
  
"NOOOO!" Betty Roberts cried defiantly.  
  
Count Gregory turned at the sound, and saw the young woman clad in the leather catsuit. "Why, Miss Rebecca Fogg, what a pleas--" Count Gregory paused, frowning. "Wait a minute... you're not Rebecca Fogg! Who do you think you are?"  
  
Betty put up her fists, ready to take on the world, announcing, "I'm Betty Roberts of Elkhart, Indiana, and I'll be damned if you think I'm going to let you hurt my Scott Sherwood any more than you already have, you twisted, psychotic piece of medieval putrescence!"  
  
Scott raised his head slightly, coughing up a bit of blood. "Why, Betty, I never knew you felt that way about me," he croaked out.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Scott, of course you did!" Betty snapped back.  
  
Count Gregory chuckled. "My, my, my... Miss Betty Roberts. You have such a way with words."  
  
"That's why she's a writer," Jules Verne shouted, as the rest of the group rushed into the room. "And a damn good one at that," he added, smiling at Rebecca.  
  
Count Gregory sighed. "Oh, great. Not you people again. Well, time to destroy Jules Verne and the meddling Foggs once and for all..." He lifted up his giant sword, and swung it around, aiming for Phileas.  
  
The sword struck against something metallic before it reached Phileas. Count Gregory looked at what had stopped his swing. It was Betty Roberts, nervously clutching a modest sword of her own, which had been previously concealed in the catsuit.  
  
"You pitiful little girl," Count Gregory growled. "You're no match for me."  
  
"No," said Rebecca Fogg, "but she just gave us time to do this to you!"   
  
Rebecca jumped at Count Gregory, smashing into his head with her feet. Phileas grabbed at the Count's sword arm, wrestling the blade away from the Count. Jules, meanwhile, began raining punches into the Count's abdomen, while Passepartout hurriedly spun some rope around the Count's legs and feet, tying it off with a flourish.  
  
The Count fell onto his back, and began to struggle up. With Jules and Phileas holding the Count's arms, Passepartout quickly tied the evil overlord's hands together as well. Count Gregory roared with rage as he rolled around helpless on the floor.  
  
Rebecca stood up, dusting herself off. She looked around. "You know, it's amazing how poorly manned this hideout seems to be."  
  
"Hmm," agreed Phileas as he straightened his cravat, while Jules and Passepartout proudly shook hands.  
  
Betty rushed over to Scott, and used her sword to slice through the straps holding him to the table. She helped him sit up, and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Scott," she breathed.  
  
"Betty, Betty, Betty..." Scott coughed. "Nice outfit," he said, smiling, as he quickly passed out.  
  
*****  
  
"And this is being the time number? Yes! The year indicator!" Passepartout clapped his hands, and backed up, pointing to a previously hidden panel on the bridge of the Aurora from the future.  
  
"Excellent work, Passepartout," Phileas said, smiling ever so slightly. "Now, I think we had best say our farewells. We don't want our new friends to need any more rescues, now, do we, Passepartout?"  
  
"No, Master, we are not wanting that," Passepartout agreed, as he bowed and took his leave of Betty and Scott. "I will be warming up the Aurora, I mean, our Aurora, Master," Passepartout said as he left the airship.  
  
Rebecca Fogg sidled up next to Betty, and presented her with a neatly wrapped box. "This is for you, Betty," she said. "Make sure you bring it to a respected tailor and get it altered to fit you better. We don't want you to look unfashionable."  
  
Betty's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh! You're really giving me one of your outfits? Which one?"  
  
Rebecca winked at Betty. "I think you know which one."  
  
Betty gasped. "But where would I wear such an outfit?"  
  
Rebecca looked surreptitiously at Scott, who was studying some papers Passepartout had given him. "I'm sure you'll find some use for it..." Rebecca giggled.   
  
Betty giggled in return. "Thank you," Betty said. The two women hugged, and Betty said, "Thank you for everything."  
  
"You're quite welcome," Rebecca said, as she moved over to Scott. "You take good care of this young lady, Mister Sherwood."  
  
Scott looked up from the sheets of paper, and smiled broadly at Rebecca. "Why, of course, Miss Fogg. I intend to do just that." He took her hand, and kissed it gently. "You take care as well."  
  
"Oh, don't worry about that, Mister Sherwood," Rebecca said.  
  
Jules cleared his throat, and started to reach for Betty's hand. Instead, Betty threw her arms around Jules, and gave him a warm hug. They parted, and Betty said sternly, "Now, you keep writing, Jules Verne. I mean it!"  
  
Jules chuckled. "I will. You too, Betty. You have a terrific imagination. Someday you'll be as famous as Dumas or--"  
  
"--or even Jules Verne," Betty finished for him. "I promise, too."  
  
Phileas turned to Scott. "I trust you have it all worked out, Scott?"  
  
Scott nodded. "Yep. Once Passepartout worked out the controls, and wrote them down for me, I knew I'd have no problem flying this thing."  
  
"Good," said Phileas. "Well, time we were off. Goodbye, Mister Sherwood. Farewell, Miss Roberts. It's been a pleasure knowing you both."  
  
"And you," said Betty.   
  
Phileas, Rebecca and Jules waved in turn as they filed out of the Aurora from the future, closing the door behind them.   
  
Scott turned to Betty once they were alone. "What's in the box from Rebecca?" he asked.  
  
"You'll find out," Betty teased. "Just get us home first, before anything else bad happens to us."  
  
"Right." Scott turned to the controls. He inserted the crystal sphere into its little chamber once again. The airship rumbled, the light increased a hundredfold, causing Betty and Scott to shield their eyes. And again, just as suddenly as the first time, the lights and the rumbling died quickly away to nothing.  
  
Scott opened his eyes, and looked at Betty. Then he turned to peer at the year indicator on the control panel. The panel read "1941".  
  
Scott Sherwood chuckled, and said, "Oh, would you look at the time..."  
  
THE END 


End file.
